“I don’t like these mysteries,” he said, plainly.
“There’s no mystery,” said the mate, pushing him back again; “something I don’t want the crew to see, that’s all. You’re the only man I can trust.”
He closed the door and coughed, and a figure which had been lurking on the companion-ladder, slipped hastily on deck and clambered noiselessly onto the jetty. The mate clambered up beside it, and hurrying with it to the gate helped it over, and with much satisfaction heard it alight on the other side.
“Good-night, Jack,” said Flower. “Don’t forget to look after Poppy.”
“Good-night,” said the mate. “Write as soon as you’re fixed.”
He walked back leisurely to the schooner and stood in some perplexity, eyeing the galley which contained the devoted George. He stood for so long that his victim lost all patience, and, sliding back the door, peered out and discovered him.
“Have you got it?” he asked, softly.
“No,” replied Fraser; “there isn’t anything. I was only making a fool of you, George. Good-night.”
He walked aft, and stood at the companion watching the outraged George as he came slowly out of the galley and stared about him.
“Good-night, George,” he repeated.